“Did they just say Houston?” Blake reached for his carry-on.
“Jeez. Sometimes the announcements are so loud, you can’t hear yourself think. But when you really need to hear…”
“I know,” I said. Not much more to say. But Blake was antsy. I knew there was more talk coming.
“Travel has become wall-to-wall unpleasant.”
“Yeah. You have to look forward to something,” I said, trying to turn the conversation around.
“What do you look forward to?”
“When I come in the door from the garage, the dog will go crazy and I’ll have to pet him a lot so we don’t wake everyone up.”
Blake seemed less than satisfied. He pursed his lips.
“I need more than that,” he said, and leaned back in the chair so his coat bunched up along his back under the collar. “I need a target.”
“Yeah. Y’know how…y’know how they say space and time are one thing, not separate?”
“All of a sudden you’re Einstein? You were barely holding it together as director of marketing.”
“Fuck you. No, really. I need a place and a time to think about when I’ve had enough of the free HBO at the hotel.”
“What’s your target, Albert?” I said, sucking the last foamy half-swig out of my plastic beer bottle.
“The moldy wooden lounge chairs in the back yard, right after I cut the grass.”
“That’s what does it?”
“That’s what does it,” Blake said.
And I could see: it could be enough. It could be enough. — Adam Barr